


Just Some Redneck Asshole the AU

by GodsUngratefulArms



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Funny, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsUngratefulArms/pseuds/GodsUngratefulArms
Summary: Non-ZA companion piece to Just Some Redneck Asshole. Just a bunch of non-sequential one shots about how I think things would go if, you know, the world didn't end.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Bomb Onion Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That One Time Adie Crashed Merle's Date: A tale told via Daryl Dixon's text threads.

Adie🌻

Friday 4:37pm

I'm gonna be late. Merle lit out early and I gotta close up by myself.

Okay. Is everything alright?

4:39pm

Yeah. He's meeting some chick over at The Vortex, didn't tell me til he was leaving.

4:43pm

Tried Zach but Beth answered his phone and said he's "busy until Monday"

4:43pm

LMAO

4:44pm

That girl is gonna be the death of her daddy.

4:45pm

Want help?

4:45pm

Ain't you with Glenn?

4:47pm

Yeah, but I can bail

4:49pm

Or bring him

4:50pm

Hell no!

4:53pm

Last time I let him in the shop, the Horvath's rv was fucked up so bad it took 3 days longer than I told them

4:53pm

And Dale was pissed

4:54pm

He says to tell you he said he was sorry a million times and to ask you what more do you want from him

4:56pm

I want you two to quit bugging me and study so he can pass his finals and go tf back to Michigan

5:02pm

He says that's cold

5:03pm

See you soon 😘

5:03pm

Merle

Friday 5:37pm

Any particular reason some ginger cock block and her chinese sidekick just showed up?

He's Korean

5:39pm

Whatever

5:39

Adie🌻

See you soon 😘

5:03pm

Where are you?

5:40pm

With Glenn

5:42pm

With Glenn where?

5:43pm

Adie?

5:55pm

Adrienne

5:58pm

The Vortex

5:59pm

We were in the neighborhood and Glenn was hungry and they have bomb onion rings

6:00pm

Daryl?

6:05pm

What are you studying at a fuckin biker bar?

6:06pm

Merle's date

6:07pm

Why

6:10pm

It's for his own good Daryl

6:11pm

Remember Megan?

6:12pm

Or Lana?

6:12pm

REMEMBER TRISH

6:12pm

I'm just making sure this chick is on the up and up

6:13pm

Fine

6:15pm

Bring home some onion rings

6:16pm

Please

6:16pm

You got it stud 🍆

6:19pm

Glenn had my phone. Ignore him, he's a child

6:24pm

I'll bring home onion rings

6:24pm

Merle

Whatever

5:39pm

You owe me, little bro

6:26pm

Big time

6:26pm

Adie🌻

I'll bring home onion rings

6:24pm

What did you do?

6:26pm

Nothing

6:27pm

Merle's pissed

6:27pm

I spilled my drink on Andrea

6:29pm

Who

6:30pm

His date

6:31pm

She's a lawyer

6:32pm

So?

6:33pm

And she's from Florida

6:34pm

Not everyone from Florida is bad Adie

6:36pm

TRISH

6:37pm

Yeah, she was shitty

6:38pm

Merle

Big time

6:26pm

Never mind

6:41pm

Don't come home tonight, I got company

6:41pm

Tell ginger thanks for getting Andrea all wet lol

6:42pm

Jesus

6:45pm

Adie🌻

Yeah, she was shitty

6:38pm

So Merle says not to come home tonight

6:46pm

Seriously?

6:47pm

He's that butthurt?

6:47pm

He's got company

6:48pm

No fucking way

6:49pm

You're kidding

6:49pm

Nope

6:51pm

I'll be at your place in half an hour

6:52pm

Be safe

6:52pm

I will

6:53pm

Don't forget the onion rings

6:54pm

And get rid of Glenn

6:54pm

LMAO jerk

6:55pm

Okay, I'll see you soon

6:55pm

Love you 😘

6:56pm

Love you too

6:56pm


	2. Corn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl, Adie, Merle, and Andrea play a game. Hilarity and fluff ensue.

*Adrienne's POV*

  
  


"How do you play this game?" Daryl demands.

He's not thrilled. Merle and his new girlfriend are crashing our date night. Admittedly, I don't hate Andrea as much as I've hated his last dozen flavors of the week, but I'm damn near floored she's lasted this long. Merle's not one to settle down, claiming ain't a pair of tits on God's green earth woman enough to tame the beast. But the way he looks at this one… shit. I don't know that Merle even realizes it, but that's the look of a man tamed. 

This whole double date thing was his suggestion. He wanted Daryl to meet this girl, and he wanted me to apologize for spilling my cocktail on his lady's Vera Wang. I will not. So here we sit, the four of us gathered around my kitchen table, staring down at a little black box housing Cards Against Humanity's absurd expansion pack. Glenn gave it to me for his birthday. Yes, his birthday. He claimed he couldn't keep a game like that at his place and risk Maggie's father discovering his heathen ways.

"Okay," I sigh, opening the box and setting up the cards. "At the start of each round, one of us'll read off a black card, that's the card czar. The other three will then choose the white card in their hand they feel best completes the black card and give it to the czar, who reads 'em and picks their favorite one."

"I'm gonna need more wine," Andrea chuckles, reading the cards in her hands.

Merle's up out of his chair to fetch the bottle of Prosecco off the counter before she's even finished her sentence. Can't be tamed, my ass. He tops off her glass before refilling everyone else's.

"Thanks," she beams.

"Anytime, sweetheart," Merle grins.

_Sweetheart._ Daryl and I exchange a glance.

"Okay, so how do we decide who the czar is?" Andrea questions.

"I don't know the official rule, but how about the oldest?" I suggest, tipping my glass at Merle. "That's you, gramps."

"First czar, huh?" Merle questions, plucking a black card from the deck with a flourish. "What an honor. Alright, what we got goin' on here? Hey, honey. For the bedroom, were you thinkin' robin's egg blue or blank pink?"

"The hell kinda game is this?" Daryl blurts, staring, horrified, at his cards.

"A fun one," I grin, slapping my card down in front of Merle.

"All right, then," Merle sighs once we've all played our cards, making a big production out of shuffling the three cards in his hands. "Voter suppression, the cutest fuckin' shoes I've ever seen, or thumb-" he barks out a laugh. "Thumb, king of the fingers. That's the one right there."

"And that's how it's done," I smirk, taking the black card and placing it in front of me.

"Wait, how many do you have to get to win the game?" Andrea asks.

"Ten," Merle suggests.

"Three," Daryl counters.

"How about seven?" I ask, sipping my wine.

"Sounds good to me," Andrea nods.

"Okay, my turn," I sigh, snatching a black card from the pile. "What sounds great after four margaritas?"

"Four more margaritas," Andrea cracks, passing her card to me.

"True!" I crow, gathering the cards. "Okay, throwing a man by his big penis, the Audi sign 'n drive sales event, or a little taste… oh my god, a little taste of penis," I cackle. "One of these is not like the others. Who put in the Audi sign 'n drive sales event?"

"That's mine," Daryl smirks, snatching the black card.

"That was the most boring one!" Merle protests.

"No, that was the only funny one," I counter. "Your turn, Daryl."

"It's late at night," Daryl reads. "You're in bed with your lover, Patrick… oh, what the fuck Adie?"

"I didn't write them!" I protest.

"You're in bed with your lover, Patrick Stewart," he continues, sighing. "He leans over with a twinkle in his eye and asks how about blank."

"Shit, I don't have anything for this one," Andrea sighs, sliding her card towards Daryl while Merle and I both slap ours down with decisive finality.

"Adrienne, I ain't readin' this shit," Daryl hisses.

"Come on, little brother, don't be a party pooper," Merle chuckles.

"A big, big, big, and I mean big big," Daryl sighs disparagingly. "Poppin' that pussy or beef."

"Poppin' that pussy!" Merle sputters. "That's great."

"Beef," Daryl decides.

"Hand it over, bro," Merle smirks.

"Ain't it nifty," Andrea reads. "Barb and Bob hit 50! So get off your ass and raise a glass to 50 years of blank."

Daryl snorts, placing his card down first. I knew he'd warm up to the game eventually.

"Owing a lot of money to some very bad people," Andrea chuckles. "Pretending golf is fun. Small plates, or tapas, if you will. Pretending golf is fun."

"Oh, come on!" Merle protests.

"Ha! Suck it, Merle!" I hoot triumphantly, snatching my winnings. "It's your turn again."

"Say it loud! I'm blank and I'm proud!" Merle reads, three cards hitting the table almost before he's finished. "Some cracker ass motherfucker, true. A real cum dumpster of a saxophonist or lettin' that pussy breathe. Lettin' that pussy breathe, shit."

"That one's mine," Andrea grins.

"Mm, really?" Merle questions, eyes bright. "I think you should uh, let that pussy breathe a little more often."

"Maybe I will later tonight," Andrea flirts. "If you're lucky."

"Jesus," Daryl mutters, reddening when the couple across the table share a kiss.

*Daryl's POV*

I'll be damned. My brother, the eternal fucking Casanova -in his head, anyway- managed to find himself someone halfway tolerable. Even Adie likes her, and she don't like any of his girlfriends. She's so protective of him. He hates it, says he don't need a babysitter, but that ain't true 'cause I've been babysitting his ass all our lives. Adie cares about him and it ain't just 'cause he's my brother and I love that about her. She just cares.

I don't love this game, though.

"Five, four, three, two, one, blank!" Adie reads, grinning as we all throw down our cards.

"I got nothin'," Andrea huffs, listlessly tossing her card to the table.

"Mark Zuckerberg," Adie reads, chuckling out of politeness. "My buddy Jeff and c-" her eyes widen, she and Merle both erupting into uproarious laughter. "Corn?!" She sputters. "Seriously?"

She's laughing so hard, tears are streaming down her cheeks, her grin so wide it hurts just looking. It's contagious, that laugh, and she's so fucking beautiful, and how the fuck did I get so lucky? I can't wait for this goddamn game to be over so Merle and Andrea will leave and I'll have Adie to myself.

"Corn," she sighs, giggling and wiping her tears away. "Corn wins."

"Really?" I demand.

I really thought my buddy Jeff would get her.

"Know your audience, brother," Merle says smugly, collecting his card.

"My buddy Jeff was a close second," Adie assures me, giving me a peck on the cheek and pressing a black card into my hand.

"Here's a little somethin' I learned in business school," I read. "The customer is always blank."

"An asshole, in my experience," Merle points out. "Remember that guy with the Mustang?"

"You overcharged him and when he wanted to know why, you told him it was 'cause his car's a pussified taxi 'n you charged extra just for lookin' at it," I mutter. "Cost us $300."

"You didn't!" Andrea crows, scandalized. "Why would you say that to a customer?"

"That uppity fuck bought a lemon yellow sports car tryin' to get his dick to quit goin' soft and ruined it 'cause he didn't know how to drive the damn thing," Merle shrugs.

"And that there's why Zach runs the desk," Adie laughs.

"These cards are shit," I chuckle. "Uncles, a bear, Travolta. This really the best y'all could do?"

On the game goes, the bottle of wine Adie had bought for the occasion disappearing with the minutes. Andrea ain't good at this game, but she's a decent sport. Adie and Merle have been neck and neck the whole time and, even though I don't give a fuck who wins, I find myself just a little smug when I overtake Merle. Me and Adie are tied at six and it's her turn.

"Well, at least she can't win this round," Andrea chuckles.

"New at TGIFridays," Adie reads. "It's what you've been waitin' for. The blank burger."

Three cards hit the table almost the second she's finished, and I hope she picks mine so this shit can be done. I'm having fun, the game having grown on me once I got over the shock of how many cards had the word 'pussy' on them, but I'm ready to wrap it up and take Adie to bed and keep her there 'til Monday morning.

"All right," she says, eyes flickering side to side as she reads our cards. "The fat burger. Accurate. The my real dad burger or the asshole destroyer 3000," she cackles. "That's the winner."

Shit.

"Me," Andrea sing songs, doing some kind of little victory shimmy while she adds her card to the tiny pile in front of her.

"Give me ten good men and 48 hours," I read. "I'll get you blank."

"If you need ten men to get a job done, you ain't the man for the job," Merle chuckles, sliding his card across the table.

"What about one good man and ten inches?" Andrea blurts, causing Adie to choke on her last bit of wine.

"I don't know about good, sweetheart, but the rest can be arranged," Merle winks.

Gross.

"Alright, I got clippy from microsoft office, these breasts of mine, and a hateful thirty year marriage," I list off. "Breasts wins."

"Fuckin' A they do!" Adie crows. "Eat it, Merle!"

After allowing Adie to gloat for a few minutes -she's not a gracious winner- and cleaning up her kitchen, Merle and Andrea finally, finally leave and Adie's just mine again. She closes the door, locking it, and turns back to face me. I ain't good at getting from point A to point B, so, even though I got an idea of where I want this to go, I just stand there waiting for her to decide what we're doing.

"You know what'd look really nice in here?" She murmurs, eyes flickering around the room.

Her apartment ain't tiny, but it ain't big, neither, and she's still managed to decorate the place perfectly. Not that I'd know shit about that, mine and Merle's place is pretty plain. Adie's got an eye for this shit, though, and the inside of her apartment looks like some kind of ski lodge or cabin or some shit, just scaled down to size. Everything in here's warm and soft, a perfect reflection of the woman who lives in it. I can't think of nothin' that's missing.

"What?"

"Your stuff," she grins, eyeing me.

Wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

She ain't really asking me to move in.

"You already have a key," she points out, like she can read my mind, crossing the room and wrapping her arms loosely around me, her fingers laced at the back of my neck. "You're here all weekend and most weeknights, anyway."

"You sure?" I blurt.

"I'm sure," she laughs softly. "I'm tired of nights you're not around."

Before I realize I've made the decision, I crash my lips into hers, and when I lift her up her legs wrap around my waist like they're just supposed to be there, like her body was made to fit mine, and her kiss steals my breath and I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than with her in this place, and she wants me here, too and I can't, I can't figure out how the hell I got here but I'm happy. I break the kiss and she's grinning, looking like she's just as lost in me as I am in her.

"Is that a yes?"


	3. Big Squeezy

*Adrienne's POV*

"Mich, I'm not wearin' this," I mutter, tossing a tiny scrap of fabric I'm pretty sure is just a scarf masquerading as a skirt onto her powder blue bedspread.

"Why not?" She demands, poking her head out of her closet and grinning. "You have amazing legs, you should show 'em off."

"Because," I drag out the word, flopping back on her pillows. "If my ass cheeks are hangin' out, no one's gonna be lookin' at my legs."

"Okay, what about these?" She questions, rolling her eyes and holding a navy pair of sailor shorts embellished with tiny gold buttons in front of her own legs, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, my god."

"What? It's not a skirt."

"Neither," I snatch the fabric scrap from the bed. "Is this."

"Just try them on," she pouts, hitting me with the puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," I huff, rolling off the bed and padding towards her.

"Are you wearing real underwear?" She demands.

I glare at her, stripping out of my sweatpants and hoodie combo, revealing my best pair of cotton granny briefs and a lime green sports bra. Michonne is all about fashion. She loves it. To her, the way you dress should reflect your unique artistic expression, which is why she dresses me most of the time I have to look decent in public. She runs an art gallery downtown that had once been the venue of a benefit I'd hosted as the, in my Aunt Nettie's words,  _ 'public face' _ of Devereaux Distilleries. I'd inherited the Devereaux empire upon my mama's passing. I never wanted it. I just wanted to make music and kick balls. Literally. I was gonna be a college athlete, maybe go pro one day. That ship didn't even make it outta the harbor. When mama died, I was a wreck. Aunt Nettie got me to clean up my act, though, and despite my inherited title of President, she acts as CEO, handling most of the business end of the Devereaux dealings, leaving me free to do whatever I want most of the time in exchange for continuing my schooling, which is why, despite a supreme lack of interest, I'm studying business at Georgia State. I'll officially step into the role of President when I graduate.

"Oh, my god, Adie," Michonne groans, horrified.

"Look, you won't even show me a picture of this guy," I point out, pulling the sailor shorts -which, admittedly, are really cute- up my legs and fastening the buttons. "And I'm not plannin' on sleepin' with 'im on the first date anyway, so I don't see a reason to bother with," I curl my fingers into air quotes, "real underwear."

She just rolls her eyes again and tosses a short sleeved, white men's dress shirt my way, followed by a black camisole.

"You need shoes."

"What shoes even go with this?" I huff, straightening the collar of the shirt.

"The Louboutin's I got you for your birthday last year," she says, like it's so obvious, now rifling through the train case I'd brought with me. "You know, the ones still in a box at the top of your tragic closet. Is this seriously all the makeup you possess?"

"Mhmm."

"Mhmm," she mimicks, flipping open a compact containing a trio of neutral shadows, sighing disparagingly, and snapping it closed again. "You know, a little color wouldn't kill you."

"Do you see this?" I demand, pointing an incredulous finger at the mass of curly red hair piled atop my head in a haphazard bun. "You think Raggedy Ann can pull off colors that don't have names like soft fawn and beige interior?"

"You're such a whiner."

*Daryl's POV*

"You can't back out now," Rick's distorted voice filters through my cell phone. "You already agreed and we're supposed to be there in 45 minutes."

"I don't think I's sober," I protest. "You fuckin' railroaded me into this, man."

"Bullshit I did," he says, affronted. "You said,  _ you _ said you didn't wanna be a third wheel anymore."

"I didn't mean y'all needed to find me a date," I huff, pacing the floor length between the front door and kitchen in mine and Merle's shithole apartment. "Just tired of hangin' around while you got your tongues down each other's throats."

"We're not-"

"Yeah, you are," I cut him off. "You are that bad."

"Look, I get bein' nervous," he sighs, gearing up for a heart to heart I'm damn sure I ain't had enough alcohol to tolerate right now.

"Man, I don't need my head shrunk," I mutter. "I ain't afraid of nothin'."

He's silent and I can fucking  _ hear _ the look on his face, all sympathetic and understanding, just like the night I met him. I was bailing Merle outta jail. Again. He'd been the arresting officer. I didn't run into him again for weeks, but one night he showed up at this bar in Atlanta and he was getting drunk on them girly ass fruity drinks he likes so much and Merle felt the need to rough him up. I had to break up the fight, drag both their asses out to the parking lot before Merle got himself arrested and the both of us banned from yet another bar. I really didn't wanna get banned from this one, they have good onion rings and a bartender who knows my order already.

Anyway, Rick couldn't drive himself home, he was three sheets to the wind, didn't know where the fuck his phone was or who to call even if he did and he looked so damn pathetic, I couldn't just leave him. Even Merle agreed with that much. We let him crash at our place. He spent most of the night puking and crying over some bitch named Lori. Found out later they were married and had a kid and she cheated on him with his best friend. They got divorced and would've had a real nasty custody battle, but Rick didn't wanna put Carl through that shit. He transferred from King County to Atlanta PD, moved into his own shithole apartment across the hall, and still has his son more often than not 'cause Lori don't actually give a shit.

He met Michonne like a year ago and they hit it off and they're damn near unbearable to be around sometimes, all that touching and shit like they don't care who sees it. I guess Michonne's got it in her head I'm lonely or some shit 'cause her and Rick decided to set up this whole thing with some chick they both know. Michonne says I'll love her. I know I won't. I'm fine on my own, nobody to piss me off or nag me or treat me like I'm somethin' broke they gotta fix. Nobody I gotta worry about disappointing.

"Look," Rick sighs eventually. "If you don't like her, we'll bail. Okay?"

"What, and leave this girl alone?"

"No, asshole, we'll bail, you and me. Leave her with Michonne."

I consider this. I guess it ain't all that bad a plan. Ain't like I got shit else to do.

"Fine."

"Let me in, I'm at your door."

"What?" I demand. "Why?"

"Michonne wants to make sure you're dressed."

"Jesus Christ, Rick, I can dress myself," I spit. "Been doin' it a long time."

"What're you gonna wear?"

I glance down at my jeans. They're filthy, grease stained and holes worn in the knees. Shit.

"I'm comin' to the door," I snap.

He's still laughing when I let him inside.

*Adrienne's POV*

Fletcher's is unusually packed, even for a Friday night. It's a neat little place, a cross between a pub and an old timey speakeasy, and after the third or fourth time Michonne dragged me here I'd grown to love it. The food is good and the atmosphere is better, which is enough to make up for drinks that were named by someone trying just a little too hard to meld together whimsy and nostalgia. Mixed drinks like Blue Rhapsody and Ragtime Gal just scream kitschy to me, but I'm a New Orleans girl at heart so maybe I'm a little too hard on Fletcher's particular brand of authenticity.

"There," Michonne points to a familiar head of slightly greying curls next to an unfamiliar head of shaggy, dark hair, and the two of us weave our way through the smattering of tables and patrons between us and the booth housing Rick and my mystery date.

I expected to recognize him. It's not like I know everybody in Atlanta, but I guess I just thought maybe all the secrecy was because I knew the guy and they thought I'd say no if they told me who he was. But I've never met this guy. I'd remember. This guy is… well, there's really no other word for it, he's hot. I don't usually feel this jittery meeting new people, but my stomach is doing cartwheels inside my guts. I don't know if it's the prospect of meeting Hot Guy or just the idea of dating again at all. My last relationship didn't go so great. Turns out, some men only like you when you're too high to say no.

*Daryl's POV*

"If she's more than 15 minutes late, I ain't stayin'," I grumble, slouching in my seat.

Fletcher's. I ain't never been to this place before. There's more people here than I bargained for when I agreed to this shit. I ain't impressed, but at least the beer's cold. After seeing the drink menu, I settled for whatever they had on tap. I don't give a shit how good Rick insists it is, I ain't drinking nothin' called Big Squeezy.

"She's not gonna be late," Rick assures, rolling his eyes and sipping his Ragtime Gal. "She's like you that way."

Before I can say shit else, Michonne and the mystery chick are sliding onto the bench across the table. The first thing I notice is her hair, this mass of curls like wildfire tumbling around her face. There's something magnetic about her and I can't look away if I wanted to. All the lights in this place are this yellowish orange color, like flames, and it's like she's glowing or some shit, this magnet girl.

"Hey," Michonne grins, leaning forward to give Rick a quick kiss.

"Hey," he echoes, his eyes glazing over in that stupid way they always do when Michonne's around. "You look great."

"Thank you."

The response falls from the redhead's smirking mouth. She's got dimples and twinkly green-brown eyes and a lazy drawl thicker than mine and fuck, I think I'm staring.

"Nice to see you, Adrienne," Rick chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. "This is Daryl."

Adrienne. I know I've heard Rick mention an Adrienne before, I just don't remember when or in what context. She turns her gaze to me, her smile softening, and I drop my eyes to the glass in front of me. I know I probably look like an asshole, but this girl is doing something weird to my guts and my mouth feels like the desert.

"Nice to meet you, Daryl," she says, my eyes snapping back up to hers like I can't help myself. "I'm Adie Devereaux."

She holds her hand out and that's when I see it. A jagged scar, cleaving her forearm down the center, a lightning bolt of stark white against peaches and cream.

"Hell happened to you?" I blurt.

"Oh, uh…"

She retracts her hand, brows furrowing, and I mentally kick myself the same time the heel of Rick's boot slams down on my toes, 'cause what the hell else would a scar like that come from? Still, the magnet girl don't seem too upset so I guess maybe I didn't blow this thing already. Adrienne Devereaux simply chuckles to herself, cheeks flushing pleasantly, her gaze dropping to the table.

"Death asked me to dance once and I couldn't resist," she says finally, glancing back up with a rueful grin.

"Wow," Michonne snickers. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"Shut up," Adrienne laughs, elbowing the other woman.

"No, seriously," Michonne insists. "You should write that down. You could be the next Faulkner."

"More like the next Dr. Seuss," Rick quips, grinning.

"Hey, now," Adrienne says. "Yertle the Turtle was a goddamn literary masterpiece, all right?"

Rick and Michonne break into a fit of laughter and Adrienne beams. I don't know what the hell Yertle the Turtle is, but I don't wanna be the reason Adrienne stops smiling again. I'll ask later.

"Oh, good," Beth, the perky little blonde girl waiting our table, chirps, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, four menus in hand. "This the rest of your party, Mr. Grimes?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rick nods.

"Great," Beth grins, passing menus around, then turning to introduce herself to Adrienne and Michonne. "Well, I'm Beth and I'll be your server tonight. What can I get started for you folks?"

*Adrienne's POV*

Daryl Dixon eats like a toddler. With his hands, and quickly, like someone's gonna take it if he's not fast enough. It's kind of cute, actually, and I find my gaze pulled to him a bit more often than could probably be considered polite. I'm sure he thinks I'm a nutcase, staring at him like this, but there's something about him… his steely blue eyes, flashing in the light from the hideous art deco chandelier above the table, those cheekbones… hell, even his  _ ears _ are cute, peeking through the curtain of his dark hair. I've never had anyone be quite so forward, asking about my scar like that. Most people just avert their eyes, pretending to be oblivious, their voices taking on a tenderness usually reserved for small children. They walk on eggshells. No one ever wants to address it point blank. It's refreshing, how direct Daryl was about it all. Strangely, though, he hasn't said a word to me since and every time he catches me looking, he flushes and glares into his glass.

"So," Rick sighs contentedly, idly dragging a french fry through the pool of ketchup on his plate. "How's Penny doin'?"

"Oh, she's great," I beam. "She and her mama are thinkin' of movin' down here, try for a fresh start."

"Who's Penny?"

My eyes snap to the surly man beside Rick and I'm surprised to see him looking right back at me, eyebrows knit inquisitively.

"My sister," I tell him, tearing a piece off of my burger and dunking it in ketchup. "Well, half-sister actually, but I don't like callin' her that. It's like… which half are you keepin', you know?"

Daryl just nods, taking a sip of his beer and falling silent again. I haven't figured out yet if he's shy or if he just doesn't like me. I'm really hoping for shy. There's something about those eyes…

"Daryl, uh," Rick says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "Daryl's got a brother."

"Yeah?" I question, popping a couple fries into my mouth. They need salt. "Older or younger?"

"He's older," Daryl murmurs, shooting an accusatory glare at Rick.

"Oh."

The conversation fizzles again, Daryl's attention now focused upon tearing a napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. Damn. It's getting late, too. This is a waste of time.

"Well, I should-"

"I think I could go for some dessert," Michonne announces, cutting me off, her voice unnaturally loud. "How 'bout you?"

She catches my eyes and I know it's not really a question. I guess I'm not going just yet, then.

"Let me out," Daryl mutters, motioning for Rick to move. "I'm gon' take a piss."

"Yeah, I'll go with you," Rick obliges, getting to his feet and allowing Daryl to slide out of the booth behind him.

I watch, dumbfounded, as the two men disappear behind the partition separating the restrooms from the bar itself.

"So, that's Daryl then?" I question stupidly.

"Yeah," Michonne sighs. "Closest thing Rick's had to a best friend since…"

"Since his wife ran off with his last best friend?" I supply.

"Yeah."

It's quiet for a moment, apart from the low hum of conversation from the other diners.

"He hates me," I blurt.

"He doesn't hate you," she scoffs. "He's just shy."

"Not too shy to announce to the world he's," I curl my fingers into air quotes. "Takin' a piss."

"Just trust me, okay?"

"Michonne, I've got a paper due Monday mornin', I've gotta-"

"You had that paper written two days ago, don't even try to play that."

"Look," I sigh. "I'm not tryin' to get outta this, okay? He's… he's cute. But he clearly can't stand me and I'm not stayin' and embarrassin' myself-"

"Oh, come on," she scoffs. "He likes you."

"He's said a total of twelve words in the last hour," I point out.

"I told you, he's  _ shy, _ " she hisses, voice dropping to a whisper as Daryl and Rick emerge from behind the partition. "You make him nervous."

"I'm not doin' anything!" I protest.

"You don't have to," she rolls her eyes. "Look in a mirror."

"You're delusional," I huff. "And when I'm right and there's no second date, I'm gonna say I told you so."

"Oh, no," she says sarcastically. "Not I told you so."

Before I can respond, Rick and Daryl are returning to their seats and Beth is here with a dessert menu.

*Daryl's POV*

"I don't need a babysitter," I grumble, stomping into the bathroom and pulling up to the urinal closest to the door.

"I'm not babysittin' you," Rick sighs, leaning against the wall and staring pointedly away while I take care of my business.

"Why didn't you tell me she looked like that?" I demand.

"Looks like what?"

Gorgeous. She's fucking gorgeous and I fucking hate it. She's the type of girl who could walk into any room anywhere and go home with anybody she picked. She's funny, too, and smart, clearly ain't worried about her bills... girls like that don't hang around guys like me, they sure as fuck don't date us. She keeps looking at me like she's trying to figure me out and I'm scared shitless to look back at her 'cause maybe she could. Maybe she'd have me all figured out and then she'd fuckin' laugh at me or-

"Daryl?"

"Like some… society bitch," I mutter, tucking myself in and zipping my fly.

"Society bitch?" He repeats, glaring at me in the mirror while I wash my hands.

"That girl don't wanna be here," I shrug. "She wouldn't give somebody like me a second glance if we was passin' on the street."

"You think she's cute."

I glance up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Smug prick, looking at me like he knows shit. I just scoff, hoping he don't notice the blush I can feel creeping up the back of my neck.

"Look, that  _ society bitch _ just put away a bacon burger the size of her head," he points out. "I really don't think she thinks she's above this place or, or your company, even after your bullshit askin' about her arm."

"Jus' didn't expect it," I mumble, shame coloring my ears. "What's she got to be so fuckin' sad about, anyway? Try 'n take the easy way out like that?"

"That's not my business to tell," he points out. "Maybe you should open your mouth for reasons other than tossin' more beer down your throat, ask her some time."

"Yeah," I scoff. "'Cause this shit's goin' so well, right?"

"Would you just give the girl a  _ chance? _ " He snaps. "Just try."

"Why?"

"Because…" he sighs, rubbing his jaw in frustration. "Because I think you'd be good for each other."

It's all I can do not to roll my eyes. I pump the paper towel dispenser furiously, tear a sheet off, and dry my hands without another word. Good for each other. Yeah fuckin' right. I ain't good for nobody.

-

"Carl's been teaching himself guitar," Rick announces around a mouthful of cherry cheesecake. "Watchin' some kid on YouTube."

" _ YouTube? _ " Adrienne repeats, grimacing like hearing that shit physically pains her. "How the hell's he learnin' on YouTube?"

"He follows this guy named MizterStrumz69 or somethin'," Rick chuckles, seemingly more delighted the more agitated Adrienne becomes.

"Oh, my god," she huffs. "Call me when he's down here next time, come by my place. I've still got books and shit from when I was learnin'."

"He'll be down here all summer, startin' the weekend after next," Rick points out. "He could probably use some actual books."

Before anyone can say anything else, Rick's foot connects with my ankle and I guess it's my cue to say something.

"You a guitarist or sum'n?"

Jesus. Obviously she's a fuckin' guitarist. She probably thinks I'm a goddamn idiot.

"Well, dependin' on your definition of guitarist," she grins. "I play the guitar, but I'm not a professional or anything."

"She could be," Michonne says, earning a withering look from the redhead beside her. "I've seen you play, you're amazing."

"Not hardly," Adrienne protests, shoveling a spoonful of dessert -a massive skillet chocolate chip cookie topped with vanilla ice cream- into her mouth. "Besides, you can't exactly make a career singin' other people's songs."

"Sure you can," Rick smirks. "Weird Al did it."

"Ha ha," Adrienne says dryly.

"How long you been playin'?" I question.

"Oh, I started when I was 11, so…" she pauses, eyes widening. "Hell, 16 years now."

Taking to people, especially pretty girls, ain't never been something I'm good at and the conversation fizzles again. She seems content enough to just eat, though, and I get the feeling she don't mind the quiet. Rick, on the other hand…

"How's Aunt Nettie?"

"She's good," Adrienne nods, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "She's still convinced you're my cop boyfriend and I just haven't told her."

"Really?" Rick snickers, reaching across the table and taking Michonne's hand in his. "Still?"

"Yeah, you're invited to Thanksgiving," Adrienne laughs.

"Oh, well, you can't skip Thanksgiving," Michonne quips.

"You know, I think I already have dinner plans this year," Rick counters, his eyes doing that weird glint thing they do when he's thinking he's slick. "Pretty sure I already know what's on the menu."

Adie's eyes ping pong between the two of them while they continue bantering, her gaze eventually landing on me. She chuckles to herself, raising her glass like she's toasting to me, then taking a long sip. I'm trying not to stare at her.

"So," she murmurs, leaning towards me. "What do you do?"

"I build bikes," I tell her, surprised how easy the answer comes. "Fix cars. Me and Merle got a shop a couple blocks from here."

"Merle's your brother?"

"Yeah."

"You must be close if you're runnin' a business together," she observes. "That's gotta be nice."

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter. "When he ain't bein' a dumbass."

"Guess me and my sister aren't close enough to disappoint each other," she chuckles.

"Y'all didn't grow up together?"

"Nah, not really," she says quietly, something like guilt crossing her face. "I didn't know she even existed 'til… until our dad died."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

I ain't stupid. Rick asked about her sister, her aunt, but not her parents. Wonder if her dad was like mine. Wonder why she's got that scar. Wonder if I'm ever gonna hear her play her guitar, sing someone else's song.

"Alright," Michonne says, glancing at her watch. "Who's ready for the check?"

Rick and Adrienne nod their agreement and Beth arrives as if on cue. Not even fifteen minutes later, we're all standing outside in the parking lot, gathered around the bumper of Rick's truck he drives when he ain't working.

"Same time next Friday?" Rick asks, eyeing us all in turn.

"Uh," Adrienne hedges uncertainly, her questioning gaze on me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod and she grins and my heart skips a couple beats and I don't even give a fuck Rick's got that smug ass look on his face 'cause I made that girl smile and I like the way that feels.

She's still smiling when she climbs into her little green Subaru, waving as she peels out of the parking lot. Michonne's coming home with Rick, so the three of us pile into his truck, Michonne settling herself comfortably in the middle, chatting with Rick about whatever the hell. I ain't paying attention, I'm still watching the pair of tail lights that belong to Adrienne disappear.

"I told you you'd like her," Rick says, smirking as he puts the truck in drive.

"Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If MizterStrumz69 is a real person and he/she/they happen to be reading this, I assure you I did not know you were an actual entity and also would urge you to change your handle.


End file.
